


Missing the Stars

by orphan_account



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-14
Updated: 2012-08-14
Packaged: 2017-11-12 03:10:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/486015
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I'm tired of doing it wrong, because since Castiel changed and went away I haven't been able to do anything right. I'm here because you are the only beings who miss him as much as I do." <br/>After Castiel walks into the river, Sam and Dean have a visit from one of his very old friends.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Missing the Stars

There’s a kid outside the door, when Dean finally gets up after listening to the door shake with five minutes of prolonged hammering. Dean picks him to be about seventeen or so, but it’s hard to tell, because the boy in the baggy jeans and huge jersey is stick thin and five and a half feet tall in his Timberlands. He’s got a face trapped somewhere between cheeky child and wizened old man. But even so there’s an intensity in this kid’s eyes that makes Dean wary, because he feels as though he's seen it before.  
“What?”

“You’re Dean Winchester.” That's not a question, it’s a flat awkward statement that rings alarm bells in Dean’s head.

“Yeah. What you gonna tell me I've been served?”

“My name is Ibriel, I’m an angel of the Lord.”

And Dean will feel bad about his reaction later, but the kid has barely got the last word out before Dean instinctively clenches his fist and punches the angel hard in the face. It does little more than hurt his hand.

“Well, that was unpleasant, but not unforeseen.” The angel shakes his head, just as Dean closes the door in his face.

\---

Two hours later there's another knock on the motel door. Dean is set on ignoring it, but ten minutes of thump thump thump... Thump thump thump, and Sam decides there's no way he can keep living with that. Dean figures if the angel really wants in he can just warp himself or however it was that Cas used to just... show up.

Sam opens the door to see Ibriel bearing doritos, pepsi, and pie. The look on the boy...angel... whatever's face is wary, as well it might be. This Winchester is even bigger than the other.

“I brought appropriate food, yes? Castiel used to talk of your brother's fondness for apple pie.”

“Wait, you knew Castiel?”

“Of course. Before the war. Before he even met you. Castiel and I were brothers... And we were friends.”

\---

Ibriel sits on Sam's bed, watching in amazement at the way Dean is inhaling the pie . Dean is aware of the way the angel is staring at him, the frank and open way that Cas used to, all human subtlety gone.

“Why are you showing up now?”

“Because I miss him.”

“Get fucked.”

“I think my vessel is under age.”

Sam laughs “Well then, you and Dean have something in common. Into the jail-bait”

“You can get fucked too Sammy.”

There's a fidgeting on the bed, and Ibriel spoke quietly. “Castiel and I worked together in the beginning – When the plans for the universe were being made. Not on important things, but we did things like green. Cement. Some structures, constellations. He was always good for me – I was, as I am now, too much of a dreamer.”

Dean slams the fork he's used to eat the pie with on the plate so hard the china cracks.

“Then where the fuck have you been? Why didn't you show up, you know, before he went and died? Why didn't you help him?”

Dean's standing over the angel now, and he's so furious he looks as though he could rip Ibriel apart with his bare hands. Ibriel looks away.

“I... I am not brave. Not like Cas was. An Archangel looks at me and I quail, a hell duke licks his lips in my direction and I run. I could never save Castiel. I am a coward.  
When he first came and found you, when he still worked for heaven, before all of the terrible things happened... He told me about you. He loved you, Dean Winchester. Right from the beginning. And I thought that I would have fought on your side in the times I could dream were coming.”

The silence is overwhelming. Sam eases himself up from the table, wondering if he's going to have to prevent his brother from committing unspeakable violence on an angel.

“And then when they came, I hid. I hid because I was a coward. I hid because the war in heaven wrecked all of my dreams, because I watched my brothers die and I just hid, thinking there was nothing I could do.”

“But I'm here now. I'm here because the artist I was supposed to have been inspiring killed himself two days ago. I'm here because I'm tired of doing it wrong, because since Castiel changed and went away I haven't been able to do anything right. I'm here because you are the only beings who miss him as much as I do.”

Ibriel stares up at Sam and Dean, with those intense eyes that Remind Dean way too much of Cas.

“Get out.” He hisses.

The angel leaves.

\---

It's 2am when Dean comes out of the motel room after an hour of pretending to sleep. He goes to lean against the impala, when he realises that the angel boy is standing on the hood, drawing on the wall.

“Hey! Get the fuck off there!” Ibriel leaps off, startled, and smears the marker he is drawing with down the wall as he does. The hood of the impala barely moves, as though the angel weighs nothing. Still Dean checks for damage, then he looks up at the wall.  
His breath catches in his throat.

It's incredible, a ten foot square drawing in black marker pen, washed in sodium streetlight. A cityscape under a sky full of stars. The precise details, the thousands of stars that peek out around clouds, fading from the crescent moon. The wall reflects the most beautiful night sky dean ever remembers seeing, as if it's been taken and pinned down on dirty white concrete blocks. The city isn't recognisable, the spires and buildings are inhuman, something that only exists in the dreams of architects. It's something that belongs in a museum, and it's in front of Dean's car in black magic marker. The only thing that isn't perfect is the slash of ink through the moon from when Dean yelled at Ibriel to get off his car, and realising that makes Dean's insides twist.

“That is amazing. You did that?”

Ibriel nods. “That's pretty much what I do. In the whole universe, I just imagine things.”

“So, why haven't you been summoned back to heaven, if your latest assignment is diseased?”

“No one has noticed yet. I'm not important.”

“Right. Sucks to be you then?”

“Not entirely. It means I get to wander around a bit sometimes.”

“ You've been to earth before?”

“Yes. A number of times, usually playing the artists ' muse, sometimes when an angel further up the chain of command decides the world could do with beautifying.”

“Sounds like you're the bitch up there.” To Deans surprise, Ibriel laughs at that. “I didn't think angels laughed.”

“Most don't.”

The pair of them stared at the wall for a couple of awkward minutes, before Ibriel speaks again from the other side of the car.

“Castiel said you were very direct. Also that you were good, loyal and exceptionally handsome.”

“Wait, Cas said I was hot?”

“Not in those words. But yes, he said you were attractive.”

“Well that's just awkward.”

“Castiel loved you, it's hardly surprising he would find most aspects of you pleasing.”

“I do not need to hear that. People who love tend not to last long. It's like if they admit it then they get a phone call and die in seven days.”

“ That is very sad, Dean Winchester.” Ibriel moves slowly around to where Dean is leaning against the car, looking at the marker pen night sky.

“You said Cas worked with you. I thought he was a soldier.”

“That was afterwards. After this universe was made. Castiel got a promotion into the garrison, I stayed in design. I think Reguel was pleased at the way he confronted Phanuel about the night sky.”

“You and Cas designed the night sky?”

“Parts of it. I wanted to have... Things. Aurora Borealis. Shooting stars. I would have turned the night sky into fireworks if I'd had the chance. Castiel talked me out of my more creative ideas, but he forced Phanuel to accept the rest.”

“Phanuel still around?”

“Dead in the first war. Lucifer's war.”

“You wimp out of that one too?”

“As I said, I'm a coward.”

“Seems like it.”

Dean watches as Ibriel leans against the car and stares at him. It's disconcerting as fuck, but Dean's going to hold out, because he really doesn't want to be having a chick flick moment with a skinny angel who knew parts of Castiel that Dean doesn't.

“I could draw you something Castiel designed. If you want.” Ibriel gently eases himself onto the hood of the impala as he speaks, staring at Dean to see if he's going to yell again.

“Something Castiel designed.”

“Not all of it, but a representation. I'm sure he would have appreciated you seeing it.”

“Sure, why not. You going to put it on the wall too? You're sure as hell not going to draw on my car.”

Ibriel smiles. “No, on you.”

And then with a swiftness that surprises Dean, Ibriel takes his forearm, pulls it close, and presses the marker onto the skin above his wrist.

The angel draws quickly, assured, there are no pauses or slips in the design. He looks, and here Dean winces, utterly beautiful. There's a light that seems to come from inside him, and Dean can see the ghostly image of wings stretching from the baggy jersey.

An angel is sitting cross legged on the hood of his car, drawing on his arm in magic marker. Dean shakes his head, trying to reason it out, and failing. This is just another weird angel thing, and Dean wonders if this is some kind of message direct from Castiel.

Soon the drawing is finished, and Ibriel looks up at Dean and grins. The design on his arm is amazing. He doesn't understand it, but in it he sees parts of the sky and the sea, parts of loyalty and brotherhood and love. It's all there. At the bottom, near his wrist, there are two figures, one standing, one crouching.

“That's you.” Ibriel touches the standing figure. “And that is Sam Winchester.” He points to the kneeling man. “And that,” he lightly drags one finger over the rest of the design “Is Castiel.”

Dean looks at the image again and it blurs as tears come to his eyes. Because the kid's right, that is Cas. It's as close to a portrait as he'll ever get. Dean swallows hard, twice, because if there's one thing he won't do, it's cry any more over Castiel. It takes a moment, but he manages to stop the tears from falling.

“Hey kid.” he smirks. “You ever used a tattoo gun?”


End file.
